The Heart of the Swann
by MyPhoenixLament
Summary: COMPLETE James Norrington, Will Turner, Jack Sparrow. Three different men made similar as they each fall prey to the spell of Elizabeth Swann. A three part story with slight DMC spoilers.
1. James Norrington

**About This Story: **This is, if you will, a one-shot divided into three chapters. They all, in essence, examine the same thing: their relationship with Elizabeth Swann, yet this differs, as do the three men's opinions of each other. None of these men know who Elizabeth belongs to, really. The first chapter is centered around James Norrington, the second: William Turner, and the third: Captain Jack Sparrow. I am tempted to do a chapter from the view of Elizabeth herself, but I do not think that I will. It will rather ruin the effect I am attempting to create. So perhaps this will be a way for you to determine which relationship you support, or strengthen your support for your already favored relationship. Please remember, that thought I am a Jack/Elizabeth fan, I try not to express this in my writing. Any relationship hints that are there exist because that is how these three men see it. Now, without further ado:

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**James Norrington**

I suppose I always knew she loved him, though at first, I blinded myself to the extent of her affections. That Turner, the man who has nothing to his name but a warrant of arrest: the man who caused my ruination. He's the one that took her away from me, but I can see in her eyes that she was ready to be taken far before I stepped into the midst. Indeed, I thought that I could deny this; how foolish I was, and still am. I have tried to ignore her eyes, for they are what take away the little hope that I still have left.

When she accepted my proposal of marriage, my mind was fogged with the happiness that she would soon be mine. And I had the right to be arrogant, with my esteemed title, yet it was my arrogance, among other things, that brought about my downfall. When I asked for Elizabeth's hand, well… That was the first step toward my descent.

Being who I was, you might expect that she would have become like a possession to me: a beautiful trophy to boost my position in society. A governor's daughter, after all, is born a sought-after prize. But this has always been but a trifle to me, and is even less important now after what that blacksmith has forced her into becoming. When I requested her hand, her status and beauty were but a bonus. I loved her then, and I still do.

You might seem surprised, but as I still attempt to be an honest man, there is no lie in my words. I told her, indirectly perhaps, that such is no longer what I feel. Somehow, I can grasp tightly onto what little dignity I have left when I tell her this. Besides, I am disinclined to believe that she would suspect, after all the anguish she has put me through, that I harbor feelings enough for her to light a thousand fires. Even after she has followed her heart, I still follow mine. I have become a cliché, a man torn asunder by a woman.

But then, she isn't really just any woman, is she?

I admit that the last person I had hoped and expected to see in Tortuga was the one that saved me at the same time she doomed me with her touch. Is God so unkind that he will send her to me once more, just when I have at last drunk her away from my memory? To my utmost humiliation, I _was_ to be she, kneeling beside me in the grime that also dripped from my shamed face. She is no longer the refined young woman that I knew—and meant for her to become—and undeniably, this attracts me to her more strongly than ever. I remember how my eyes widened at the sight of her, undoubtedly betraying such a sense of vulnerability that I wish I did not possess. Call me a fool if you must; I will not deny what I know that I am.

In many a way, I am not the only one that has been ruined. And the sea is the least of the things that have claimed her soul as their own. She has become untamed, and in this state, her heart, too, has become just as such.

At first, I thought only that she had been taken from me once, and one mark against me is not as terrible as what pains me now. For I have lost her twice over. Though I have helplessly watched her retreat into the arms of the inferior Turner, I have seen her eyes flicker to Sparrow on more than one occasion. The way she looks at him is a way she never has and never will look upon me. The deepest expression of emotion that I have felt from her is pity. Pity for what I have become when she cannot see what has become of herself. Yet when she looks at him, a drunkard pirate with no honor at all—who really is now not so very different from me—her eyes are soft and filled with longing. Admiration even, though for what I do not even pretend that I know. And so, if she can have them both at once, why cannot I be graced with a chance as well?

_Elizabeth Norrington_, wife of a commodore. My wife. What a fine prospect that would be, if a commodore I still was. But I'm not, as you undoubtedly have noticed. I have become almost like a pirate; nay, in all technicalities, a pirate I _have_ turned out to be, the moment I was hired onto Sparrow's crew. And a pirate I am still, if truth be told, for I have pilfered the heart of the sea in exchange for something that I could not have otherwise regained on my own: my honor. A man can be defeated only so many times before drastic measures must be taken. I have taken these measures, but I must wonder if such things will really help.

Perhaps now my plight has become almost something comical. Laugh if you must, I suppose I shall soon become accustomed to such things.

I was a wanted man, but in ways no more than one, thus I am wanted by no one at the present. I have salvaged what dignity I can, and I am free. Or at least, as free as I can ever hope to be.


	2. Will Turner

**Author's Notes:** First and foremost, I must express my deepest appreciation for the reviews I received! I'm terrible at answering them with this site's system, but I didn't want you to think that I take them for granted. The reaction to this was better than I anticipated!

**About This Story: **This is the second part of this three-part story, and it is this chapter that illustrates William Turner's view of his relationship with Elizabeth. Will was somewhat difficult for me to write, and from the movies I never seemed to get a strong perception of his voice. So this is my attempt, though I admit that for a Jack/Lizzie fan, I enjoyed this far more than I thought. The next and final chapter is in the view of Captain Jack Sparrow, which should be posted tomorrow.

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**Will Turner**

The very first time I saw her, I was a child and so was she, though I had been pulled from the wreckage of the sea; she was the finest thing I thought I had ever seen, dressed in an elegant gown. For the remainder of our time upon the ship, she seated herself beside me, guarding me. Protecting me. I think that, even if her father had not ordered me her charge, it was in her nature then to remain with me. And I think it's still in her nature; there is just enough of her former self still left, and she cannot deny who she is.

Yet sometimes, I do not even _know_ who she is, and neither, I believe, does she. This worries me. I have known her so long, and in so many years, she stayed the same. In a short time, however, she has grown so different from the Elizabeth I once knew. In spite of this, though, I love her more fiercely than I ever have, even if she hasn't always known it.

You may not believe that children can understand the concept of love, further than the affection they feel for their immediate family. Perhaps they cannot. Perhaps you could not. But I firmly believe, at least, in the concept of love at first sight, even if you are nearly blinded by saltwater and exhaustion. Perhaps it was only a mere feeling of the want of friendship at first. Yet it was not long before I discovered that she was the one with whom I _wished_ to spend the rest of my life.

I called her Miss Swann, in spite of the fact that we had been companions in our childhood. For we were children no longer, and I knew my place. I masked my emotions behind her formal name, knowing well the way which my voice changed when I murmured _Elizabeth_ to myself when no one was near. I savored the taste of it upon my tongue, the way it felt when it rolled from my lips. Can you place blame upon me, really, when hers was the kindness and companionship I had known for the past ten years?

The Governor asked Mr. Brown, the blacksmith, if I could become his apprentice; Elizabeth told me this one afternoon when she came to visit me. He had requested it as a personal favor, she said, but I was not to know this, and neither was she. How had she come across such information, then? With an unguarded laugh, I remember, she proudly informed me that she had listened with her ear against the door as her father bargained with the man I would soon work for. Even then, it seems, she had begun to bend the rules.

Later, she would bend the law, along with the rest of us.

At times, I wonder if this is simply in her blood, just as it's in mine. The difference, however, is that _her_ father is a respectable man, and _mine_ is a lying, thieving pirate. Or was, I suppose, for he is now a prisoner for a fault of his own. Jack Sparrow labeled him as a good man, but I don't know what to believe.

Elizabeth has done no wrong, and I have never thought of her as a prisoner. Yet I wonder if I have misjudged her. The life that she seems to want to so desperately escape is the life that I have longed for since my father abandoned me. And until recently, she never realized this. Even later, though, have I.

At first, before I knew the true nature of my father's profession, I thought that I would lose her to Norrington, a man of higher stature who could provide her with what she deserved. Lose her, in spite of the fact that I had never dared to consider her mine to begin with. I remember telling myself that this was what was best for her, yet I still felt such resentment at my rank. I believed that, in spite of the fact that he could make her happy, he did not love her as I so strongly did—and still do.

I allowed myself to underestimate her, as well.

After she was captured, I told Jack Sparrow that I would die for her. I would never lie about such a grave thing as this, and on several occasions since then I have narrowly escaped the fate I pledged I would accept for her sake. Yet I worry at times that no longer does she require someone to save her. Now that she has been saved, she enjoys the freedom that it has given her.

I realize that if it weren't for me, long ago would she have become Norrington's bride. Had she not known me, she couldn't have given Barbossa my surname as her own. Nothing would be as it is now. Perhaps most differently of all, neither she nor I would have met Jack.

I don't think she realizes that I saw her and Jack together, minutes before the Kraken came forth from the depths of the ocean to consume him. Is he a noble man, to have chosen to stay aboard the Black Pearl to allow us a chance to survive? Is he still one whom I may call a friend—more than an acquaintance—when he has kissed the woman who is to become my wife? I don't pretend to understand her actions, and I fear that I can no longer understand her heart. I want to have her, to hold her in my arms until the day I draw my last breath. Yet what does all that matter? What do _I_ matter, in fact, if I cannot make her happy?

I will go to the world's end to bring her happiness. I am no coward—I have learned this long ago, and will fight for the right to what is mine—yet I can only hope that it will suffice to bring her back to me. Thus hope, at the present, is what I must do.


	3. Captain Jack Sparrow

**Author's Notes: **Here is the third and final part of _The Heart of the Swann_, written in the perspective of Captain Jack Sparrow. I apologize for the wait, I wasn't able to access a computer with a word processor yesterday. But to make up for this, this is three hundred words longer than the other ones. If you have ever written Jack Sparrow successfully, then my hat is certainly off to you. I am not as pleased with this part as I am with Norrington's, because Jack has so much voice that it is incredibly difficult for me to capture it! This is also a bit more humorous, because I think that, even though he's in quite the predicament, he wouldn't lose his humor. I just hope it isn't overdone. So, without further ado, here's the Mr. Sparrow. I do hope it is as good as you hoped it would be.

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**Captain Jack Sparrow**

First and foremost, now, you've got to realize that I'm a pirate. A downright scoundrel, actually, whose only love, you might anticipate, is the sea. Well, you've got me sleeve pinned, I'll wager, but the rest of Captain Jack Sparrow is running free and uncharted. What I mean to convey is that I'm not what you might expect. After all, there are two things that I love more than the vast expanse that is the so very much admired ocean blue.

There's the Black Pearl, of course, my beautiful ship—God rest her soul—who now lays in pieces far beneath the depths. I wonder if it is inevitable that this became her fate. A sunken ship once sunken is supposed to stay precisely so, I suppose. Sunken, you savvy? But I believe _dear Lizzy_ just might decide to do something even more drastic to me if she thinks I'm more fond of a ship—and the rum, perhaps—than a human being. More than her. So for all intensive and safety purposes, the Pearl is, for a moment, a bygone of sorts.

Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy. What a pirate that woman's become. And I'm most certainly one that has every qualification of being full aware of this. The trouble with fair lady pirates is that they are entirely too willing to use certain feminine aspects to get what they want done. That, and they're highly temperamental, and Elizabeth is no exception to these. After all, she gave me one of the best kisses my humble self has ever been on the receiving end of, then chained me to the Pearl and left with the whelp when said _job_ was done. And to top it all off, she decided that she wasn't in any way, shape or form remorseful. Well, we'll see about that, won't we, love? After all, she's never really killed anyone, has she?

You might expect, as any logical someone might, that I very much despise Lizzy, but I'm afraid that you would be very much mistaken if you thought such a thing. You see, in truth, I couldn't be more proud. She's come a right long way from the prude Governor's daughter I rescued from the harbor. I mean, there's really no denying who she is… technically… but you wouldn't know it as to look at her, so it makes you wonder. Well, _I _don't wonder, of course,as I'veknown her true nature for a much longer time than she has, if I may accredit myself with this. We are _very_ much alike.

The key thing to understand in order to comprehend Miss Swann herself is that what she wants the most in the world is freedom. She may deny this all she very well likes, but there's really no use. Futile, as it were, though she could probably argue that even my compass doesn't point to this. Yet, I can argue as well that this isn't necessarily true.

I had a sneaking suspicion of what was tying her corset in a knot about said compass of mine, though I don't pretend to honor myself with being absolutely positive of this. My somewhat intuitive nature often proves to be rather biased; it habitually tells me what it is that I wish to hear, though I can't deny that it's how I prefer it to be.

But funny, really, how pirates are commonly interpreted: heartless bastards that care only for themselves—and gold, and rum, et cetera… It's so very rarely expected that we have the capability of getting weak in the knees, with our hearts all _fluttery_-like and whatnot. But perchance a look at old Jones might persuade that someone otherwise. He, being one of the most ruthless creatures I meself have known to sail the seven seas, had to cut out his own heart for the twinkling eye of his bonnie lass. Me, on the other hand… Well, I'm not about to cut out me heart, due to a certain lack of qualities—immortality, and all that—but I do confess I've come to the realization that even _I_ am not as impervious to Miss Swann as I perhaps had thought.

Now, don't come to the wrong conclusions here—don't be hasty in your bloody romanticisms. I don't believe in this love falling-into that happens in an instantaneous manner… ah, what is it? _Love at first sight_, and all that lovely storybook rubbish. You see, said Governor's daughter was perhaps the biggest nuisance I thought I'd ever had the deep misfortune to encounter. I used to believe in first impressions, too. Because that's when she was still in the annoying mindset of the high class lady of society she was reared up to be. (That's partially why I'll swear by Tortuga, and nigh nothing else.) She was still tied down by chains—corset stays—inhibitions, as it were. She had not yet _tasted_ what freedom was and truly is like.

And so I do commend myself for bringing Lizzy the Pirate about. She's a piece of work, that one is.

Now, it wasn't my intention to corrupt the lady, and neither was it _entirely_ my doing. Bootstrap's boy is wholly responsible for that which I'm not. No, on second thought, Barbossa had a small hand in on it. Gave us the key, so to speak, to unlock her from her cage. But I'm getting ahead of meself.

I didn't actually _notice_ her until we'd been put out as island-mates on that God-forsaken spit of land. The rum runners' spot—former spot, regrettably.

The interesting thing among other things about rum is that it has the capability of bringing out the best or the worst of a man's character. Or a woman's, of course. That was when Lizzy became inconceivably drunk. I did too, of course, which I suppose makes it all the more peculiar that I even remember any of our little sojourn. But when Lizzy was drunk—or doing a damn good impression of being in said state—she sank right down to the same level as meself. And I know my own kind.

After that, however, I didn't think much of her, with my mind being somewhat preoccupied with burning revenge and hers with Will Turner. I do respect a mate and his girl most of the time. And after all, what was I to care when the lass was out from under foot—and perfectly happy, of course, with dear William. Who was I to object?

I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, actually. And to be fantastically blunt, she and I have a certain… connection: a similarity, more like, because we both want the same thing—fundamentally. We want the freedom of doing whatever we please when we jolly well decide. So why, then, would I not want what wants so desperately what I want and have mostly gained? It's undeniable logic, really, that there shouldn't be some attraction.

I can't say that I'm in love with her, like the whelp or thieving former Commodore most certainly can. I'm not a sap or a ponce, or a variety of unflattering terms. And I'm not about to send her flowers or jewels or delectable sweets. But I would give my life up for her, wouldn't I? I mean, haven't I, after all? I'm dead or dying or something that's similarly unpleasant. Because, for a moment, a very noble moment, methinks, what I wanted the most in the world changed to something else. Perchance something that I'm still not quite even sure of, though, the compass most certainly knows it, the tricky thing.

Elizabeth Sparrow. Now that, mate, is an interesting idea, even if it's one I oughtn't consider. I'm not the type for _marriage_, you see. If Miss Swann is to become anything, it will be a Turner, or nothing different. After all, my chances have now become remarkably slim. However, if indeed I have won fair lady's heart to the point of no return—as she has or will mine—then, well, you know...

Pirates.


End file.
